Dry Hope
by Superbleh11
Summary: A young Ganondorf, King of the Gerudos, reflects on the dire situations of his homeland and dreams of a brighter future. Gives insight to the factors that could have led him to become the King of Evil. Nabooru x Ganondorf centric, pre OoT.


**A/N: **Hey all, this is my second foray into the hallowed halls of Zelda fanfiction! Got an idea I liked, so I took a break from constant studying to write it out! Hope y'all like it!

**Disclaimer: **Even if I could, I wouldn't take Zelda rights away from the awesomeness that is Shigeru Miyamoto

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"Will Deula live?" The question comes out harsh and rough, drawn tightly over a layer of grit.

"Sire... I..." she looks away, her eyes fluttering softly to the ground. Beautiful amber eyes, the same color as the morning sun upon the sand.

My head suddenly feels heavy, too heavy for my neck, and I don't sit so much as melt into my chair. Air flows into my lungs and I sigh, feeling the cool rustle of silk rustling against my hair and the sagging relief in my exhausted muscles. My hall is always cool, even in the midst of the volcanic desert daylight. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can pretend that the hot, gritty wind blowing across my face carries the same life upon it that washes so gently over the Hylian landscape. I can almost feel the misty spray of the great, beautiful Lake, the cool refreshment of the verdant Forest, the vivid cleanliness of the Plains. Life runs through that land, golden and pleasant, bathing the residents in happiness and prosperity.

Here, the wind carries nothing but death. There is no life in my homeland. Nothing grows, nothing prospers, no one lives easily. The desert has the beauty of a corpse: vivacious only in nostalgic memory. Ancient ruins, old scars watered down over successive generations. All we can do is look upon the ruins of the Desert Colossus and know that life was once good here. Once.

"Sire," she says, timidly edging forward, "I hate to press upon bad news, but we didn't get enough in that raid. Not nearly enough. And we lost four more Marauders..."

I allow my eyes to rest upon Nabooru's, see her once soft features hardened by the realities of desert life as her gaze falls solemnly to the ground. Deula is her sister, tended haphazardly by our poorly supplied medics. I can feel the heartache in her beautiful eyes, see the tears welling up in the corners. She wants to break down, but she is far too strong to. If she wasn't that strong, she would have died by now.

"Nabooru..." I begin, rising from my chair. My voice sounds softer than it should be: gentler, kinder. "I'm sorry. The caravan was too well guarded. I should have trusted my instincts, and Deula would never have been injured."

"Ganondorf..." she replies, startled by my sudden candor. Her beautiful amber irises rest upon my own, and I can feel the sudden exposure of emotion ripple through the walls, making the hairs on my neck stand on end. The energy tingles deep within my chest, either from my inner magic or something else.

"Please..." I say, my teeth clenching together as I try to force the words out, "Forgive my... impetuousness."

Her lip quivers, waves of emotion threatening to burst forth, but her strength holds. "Sire, we both know you had to risk the raid. We don't have a month's worth of supplies left in the coffers!"

The grim reminder of that fact sends the futile passion of despair ripping through my stomach. I feel the pulsations of the power within me, feel the energy streak through my veins with every palpation of my heart. I am filled with the sudden urge to _act_, to _move_, as the anger and sadness desperately attempt to force their way out of me. My olive hands, almost of their own accord rip at the buckles and straps of the armor slung across my chest, filling the room with the cacophony of whining leather and clattering metal. I haul my massive breastplate from my shoulders, jerking it over my head and tossing it forcefully to the side; the sudden screeching roar of the armor's impact rebounds violently through the room, ripping a small start from Nabooru.

"Don't call me Sire," I seethe, my knuckles popping as I clench my fists, "I haven't earned it. Not yet."

Silence suddenly replaces the heavy echo of the fallen armor as I straighten, glad to be free of it's claustrophobic weight. I allow the energy to haul me to my feet, but the exhaustion from the day's battle suddenly drowns the rush of emotion, and I sag against the chair. I suck in a deep breath through my nostrils, feeling a small well of disgust in my belly as the copperish scent of stale blood fills my lungs. So much blood. Always, so much blood.

"I don't want to be a thief, Nabooru," I admit, "I don't want to take what isn't mine just to survive."

The sudden soft, irregular pattering of soft shoes against the floor pulls my gaze to her; as she walks towards me, I see that her normally graceful gait carries the same air of exhaustion that I feel pulsating within me. She lays a comforting hand upon my bared shoulder, the skin surprisingly soft and gentle against my own.

"Ganondorf, that is what it means to be a Gerudo," she says, "But your leadership and your leadership alone has gotten our people through as the Hylians have progressively strengthened their caravan guards. Without you, we would have all died by now! So be strong, and take heart! If anyone has earned the right to be called Sire around here, it's you."

I turn, and the soft warmth of her hand drifts from my shoulder to my bicep, almost as a caress. I feel her hot breath against my chest, so gentle and fragile, in defiance of her immense inner strength, and emotions threaten to build more energy within me.

"We deserve so much more," I say, and an uncharacteristically sad smile works its way across my features. "One day, I'll give our people the life they deserve. I'll bring us out of the desert, and we'll feel the lifegiving Hylian wind against our faces. It will be _ours_."

The smile that blossoms across her face matches my own, sadness etched into her beautiful, beautiful eyes.

"Do you know what prosperity is, Nabooru?" I ask, almost whispering to her now, "It's _power_. The ability to make a people content and happy is _power_. No different from the power of an army or the power of a river that pushes a mill wheel. With enough power, none of the Gerudos will go hungry. Our people won't have to work so hard just to stay alive. We can enjoy life and be happy, just as the Hylians. It's the most important thing in the universe."

Her smile fades somewhat as I utter these words, and I feel mine fade in tandem. Her hand remains rested upon my bicep, but it is somehow not quite as gentle as before. The golden skin between her beautiful eyes wrinkles into furrows as the sadness of her gaze becomes more palpable.

"Our people have never lusted for power, Ganondorf," she says, the clarity of her voice tinted with a streak of fear, "We have only ever desired our survival."

The smile reappears upon my face, rife with the desire to reassure her, to _show_ her what it is I plan for our people! I meant what I said, and I can deliver it for us, give Nabooru and all of our people a life devoid of the hardships of the desert!

"Nabooru, that is all I desire as well!" I say, my voice clear and imploring, "And I swear, by the three Goddesses, that I will do _anything_ to ensure our survival."

I feel warmth build within my stomach, feel the desires tug at my soul, my heart filled with hopes for the future, yet I still see the sliver of fear reflected in her beautiful eyes. As I look deeply into them, basking in the pleasant warmth they shine upon me, I realize that I can't tell if she is fearful of the present, or something else. Something nags at her soul, some outside fear that I cannot place. I suddenly shake my head, realizing that I'm probably just seeing things.

"Don't be afraid," I whisper, "I'll do anything to make our lives better. _Anything_. I promise."

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**A/N:** Well that was a lot of fun to write! I love Ganondorf, I love how multi-dimensional they made him in the Wind Waker and I love how filled with BAMF-itude his character always is. I started thinking about him for some reason, and I started to wonder about how hard life in the Gerudo desert must be, and I figured inheriting a starving kingdom could get a powerful wizard started on the road towards power-hungry evil. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it, and, as always, I love and appreciate reviews!!

Keep reading!

Superbleh11


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